


Behind Closed Doors

by Tessalia_Grey



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Mandalore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008), Star Wars Rebels: Heroes of Mandalore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-01-04 00:09:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21188285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tessalia_Grey/pseuds/Tessalia_Grey
Summary: A series of one-shots, mostly from Bo-Katan's perspective, about things said and done behind closed doors.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Bo-Katan and Pre Vizsla in a quiet moment on Zanbar, a while before they come across Maul and Savage.  
I have always wondered how the relationship between Bo and Pre Vizsla worked. This is what works best for me.

**Zanbar – Sometime between 20 and 19 BBY**

Pre is sitting behind his desk in his tent. He looks tired, and yet is completely focused on the reports in front of him. I’ve been leaning against the doorframe for almost five minutes now; but if he’s aware of me, he’s not showing it. I straighten up and walk over to him. He’s only looking up at me when I lean against the desk right next to him, my arms folded over my chest.

“It’s late,” I comment.

“And that is supposed to tell me what?”

I place a hand on his shoulder. “Even you need rest, Pre. Come on, enough for today.”

“Since when is it your decision when I have done enough for the day?” he asks, a slight edge to his voice.

“Since you seem to lose track of time every night. So for about five years, give or take,” I answer deadpan.

Pre makes a noncommittal noise but pushes the data pad he’d been reading on away anyway. He takes my hand off his shoulder, but instead of letting it drop, he brings it up to his face. For a moment, he leans into my hand, eyes closed and face relaxed. He turns his head, placing a kiss on my palm.

Outside of this tent, Pre Vizsla is hard and unyielding, merciless even. But here, behind closed doors, he can be very different. And I am the only one who is allowed to see him like this; gentle, caring, vulnerable even.

What Pre and I share is not love. I’m not sure he is capable of truly loving anyone, and I have – in one way or another – lost everyone I have ever loved. I don’t know if I will ever be able to let someone that close to my heart again.

No, Pre and I care about each other; there is affection and loyalty between us. And yes, desire.

There is desire in his eyes now, as he pulls me onto his lap. I lean forward and kiss him; slow, gentle kisses until Pre sighs into my mouth, and I feel him relax in the chair, one hand coming to rest on my hip while the other cups my face.

After a few moments, he draws back. The look on his face has changed; there is still desire there, but there is also something else I can’t quite make out.

Pre runs a thumb gently along my lips and sighs again.

“You, Bo-Katan Kryze, are something else,” he says, and there is actual admiration in his voice. “What have I ever done to deserve you?”

I blink at him, but smile. “It’s a long list.”

I lean back down, but he stops me, gently pushing me back.

“There is…something I’d like to discuss with you,” he says, sounding…nervous? I have never in my life seen Pre Vizsla nervous. What the hell is this about?

“Alright.”

“You know I care about you,” he starts. He sounds reluctant, but I’m not surprised by that. Pre can hold glorious speeches, but he hates talking about his feelings. “There is no one I trust more than you.”

Alright…Where is this going?

“I trust you with my life,” he continues. “I trust in your leadership whenever I’m not around.”

He pauses and fixes me with an intense gaze.

“When this is over,” he says, “I want you to lead Mandalore _with_ me.”

I stare at him. Is he suggesting…what I think he is suggesting?

“When his is over,” he continues, “will you marry me?”

For a second, I am speechless. A thousand thoughts are racing through my head, a thousand voices yelling different things at me. _But you don’t love him!_, one of them says. _But isn’t what you have more stable, more secure and more valuable than the fleeting feeling of love?_, says another. And a third almost makes me blush: _Oh, come on,_ it says. _Like you never thought about having his child!_

I would lie if I said that that thought has never crossed my mind. Especially now, since Ursa can no longer hide the swell of her belly. And while I do not love Pre Vizsla, I know that love alone is no guarantee for a happy marriage. No, what Pre and I have is more of a guarantee than any grand declarations of love could ever be.

So, in the end, the answer to his question isn’t difficult to give at all.

“Yes.”

Maybe it’s not the most romantic proposal anyone ever got. Then again, neither Pre nor I are romantic people. We have always squeezed our intimacies into the few moments we have alone with each other. Why should him asking me to marry him be any different, really? Would I want it to be different, really?

I lean down and kiss him again, and this time he lets me. It progresses naturally from there as armor and the black compression suits are removed. As hands wander, knowing their territory. And yet it is different, knowing that soon, there will be no divide left between us.

I sigh into Pre’s mouth as his hand slowly trails down over my breasts and my stomach toward his ultimate destination. But his time, he stops when he reaches my belly, his hands flat on the sensitive skin between my hipbones. He looks down to where his hand is resting, and when he looks back up, his blue eyes are burning into mine.

In one swift motion, he roles on top of me, aligns, and pushes inside me. I gasp at the suddenness of it, but my gasp is lost as Pre covers my mouth with his.

I lose myself in the rhythmic motion as we move together. Pre places a line of kisses along my jaw up to my ear. And here, in the dark tent in the middle of the swamps of Zanbar, he whispers in my ear what he will one day proclaim in front of witnesses in the throne room of Sundari.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dhar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

_We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A talk between Ursa Wren and Bo-Katan Kryze, sometime after Sabine’s return to Mandalore, but before the battle of Attolon.

**Krownest – Sometime between 2 and 1 BBY**

The ship in which I chose to come here is gray and unmarked. A standard _kom’rk_, nothing fancy. Though there is fighting on Krownest, there is no presence of imperial ships in orbit. Rumor has it that Tiber Saxon had tried to bring in ships but was bested by a bunch of Wren fang fighters. Be that as it may; the lack of imperial ships allows me to approach the planet without being shot at.

Ursa knows I’m coming; she’s the one who had asked for this meeting after all. All I have to do is to send a coded signal. I receive landing coordinates only a few moments later.

I land in a clearing behind the Wren stronghold. Despite its harsh environment, Krownest has a strange beauty to it. There is a quietness that seems to engulf everything here. I notice it again after I leave the ship, my steps crunching in the crisp snow.

I make my way down the slope toward the back of the stronghold. A guard stands there, waiting for me. He lets me in and walks me to Ursa’s study.

The times I have seen Ursa in the past fifteen years can be counted on one hand. We used to be very good friends, if not to say best friends. It was nice to have someone like her to talk to during our Deathwatch days; especially for the girl talk. She had left with me after Maul had killed Pre, and she stood by me during the siege. But when Saxon betrayed me and the Empire swooped in, she chose to accept them as the new rulers of Mandalore. In a way, she had no choice, I guess. Alrich could have taken care of Sabine alone, just as he had done in the last year of Deathwatch. But when Ursa found out she was pregnant again? No, going on the run like that was not really an option. Sometimes I am glad I have no husband, no children, and no immediate family except for Korkie and his wife and daughters, who are safely hidden away. Maybe I, too, would not have left if it had meant to raise children on the run.

So Ursa and I stay in lose contact; mostly short messages when we find the time. Well, that is better then no contact at all. After all, I do miss my friend.

It’s been almost five years since I have seen Ursa in person. Looking at her makes me wonder if, apart form the gray streaks in her hair, that woman ages at all. Her face and expression are still as girly as when we met thirty-two years ago on Concordia. Her large, innocent looking doe eyes have fooled many enemies over the years.

The eyes that now light up as she sees me. She walks over to me and gives me a hug. I hug her back.

“It’s good to see you, Bo,” Ursa says, smiling a tired smile at me.

“You too,” I answer.

“I know you like to stay under the radar,” she continues. “But I have a favor to ask that I would rather not discuss over the comm.”

I wince and I hope Ursa doesn’t see it. The Wrens have started a new civil war in the sector, and until now, clan Kryze has managed to stay out of it. Not because we don’t want to get involved. We have been involved longer than all the others. But for the better part of the past fifteen years, we’ve opposed Saxon almost alone. That also meant that we could not risk open war with him. It means we ambush convoys, sabotage mining expeditions, and redistribute food and medical supplies to those who need them. It also means that we have to stay on the move. The Saxons were and are actively trying to find us and make a very public example of us. Staying under the radar, as Ursa puts it, is vital to our survival.

But here I am, so I might just as well hear her.

“I’m listening.”

Ursa gestures toward a group comfortable looking chairs in front of a fire place, and we move to sit down.

“With Sabine’s return, many things have changed,” Ursa starts, and I have to stifle the urge to scoff. That’s an understatement of the current situation.

“When I chose to shoot Gar Saxon to save my daughter’s life…that was all I thought about. To save her life. It only dawned on me later that I might have traded one life for another.”

“Sabine’s for Alrich’s,” I say, starting to suspect where Ursa is going with this. “But as far as I know, Alrich is still alive.”

“Yes,” Ursa answers, relief plain on her face.

“As harsh as this sounds, Ursa,” I say almost reluctantly. “But do you know why?”

Now it’s Ursa’s turn to wince. “No. I can only guess that Tiber Saxon has something else planned that requires him to have a living hostage.”

I nod. Those are my thoughts, too.

“You want to break him out,” I say. It’s not a question.

Ursa nods. “Yes.”

“And you want my help?”

“In a way,” she answers. “I don’t want Clan Kryze to storm Sundari. Freeing Alrich is Clan Wren’s problem. But you have established a vast intelligence network with more spies and informants than I could ever hope to muster. I want your help, yes, but in the form of information.”

I look at the fire for a moment. Alrich is my cousin, _aliit_; that alone is reason enough to help his wife. I have to smile. From the outside, Alrich and Ursa are a strange couple. Ursa is the countess of her clan, a warrior, occasionally ruthless. Alrich is a quiet man, soft-spoken, a gifted artist. I am sure Alrich has armor somewhere; but I’d be surprised if he wore it more than a dozen times in his life. From the inside, things look different. Alrich calls Ursa creative, while she calls him passionate. His deliberation tempers her impulsiveness. Ursa rules her clan, and Alrich keeps the daily mess that is the Wren household off her back.

Well, he used to, anyway. Ursa misses him, she loves him, and that, too, is a reason to help her.

“Of course I’ll help you, Ursa,” I finally say, and I see the tension leave her face and shoulders. “I will see what information I can gather and will relay everything I hear to you.”

“Thank you.”

“I can’t really spare any warriors,” I continue, “but you can contact me if you need additional help.”

“I appreciate that.”

We both look into the flames for a few more moments. Then Ursa speaks again.

“What are you up to these days? Any interesting developments?”

I shrug. “The usual. Steal from the Empire, distribute among those who don’t have the resources they need to get by.”

“And that still works for you?”

“It does for now,” I say. “As it is, there are several clans who have had enough of Saxon traitors ruling them. They contacted me, asking how they could help. They are not quite ready to fight the Empire yet, but they will be at one point.”

“Who?”

I shrug. “Rook, Elder.” I pause. “Clan Vizsla.”

Ursa barks out a laugh. “I was wondering where the rulers of my house have been these past few weeks. Now I know.”

Ursa looks at me. “They flock to you,” she says, sounding slightly amused. “You may no longer want to rule, Bo, but to many, you are still their legitimate ruler. You think you disappointed us, when in truth you never have.”

I don’t answer her. It’s something I don’t really want to talk about and Ursa seems to sense that.

“Be that as it may,” she says, getting up from her chair and walking over to the large floor to ceiling window front. “I am glad I can count on you in this.”

I get up myself and walk over to where Ursa is standing. She is looking down at the frozen lake in front of the stronghold. People in gray and yellow armor are have gathered around to watch two young adults spar.

“Are those Tristan and Sabine?” I ask, truly surprised. In my mind, they are still children.

Ursa nods. “Anyone else you recognize?”

I scan the assembled crowd and find a man in the blue and gray armor the Protectors wore until the end of the civil war. But the Protectors are dead, killed by Gar Saxon and his men. All; expect one.

“Fenn Rau,” I say. “So that rumor is true, then.”

If he’s been training Ursa pilots, it’s no wonder they managed to drive off Saxon’s ships. Rau and I may not have parted on the best of terms, but I will always concede that he is one of the best pilots in the galaxy. Maybe even _the_ best. He managed to fly me out of the mayhem that followed Saxon’s coup more than fifteen years ago. Only to tell me that he would go back to make a deal with the Empire to protect the men and women under his command and their families.

“I’d ask if you wanted to go downstairs, but I already know your answer to that,” Ursa says, bringing be back to the present.

I smile ruefully at her. “Some other time, perhaps,” I say. “I need to get back.”

Ursa nods.

“It’s been good to see you, Bo,” she says and smiles.

“You too, old friend.”

We hug again and I leave Krownest behind for now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set during the first part of “Heroes of Mandalore”, after Rau introduces Bo-Katan to the others. It is presumably the first time in almost twenty years Rau and Bo-Katan meet. I just wondered what might have been said between them after they walk into the complex together.

**Mandalore, 1 BBY**

“See if you can contact my mother,” Sabine says to Rau. Since the Empire is most likely still jamming their comms, he would have to follow the others inside.

“Right away,” he answers quickly, turning around and falling into step right next to Bo-Katan Kryze.

Rau had known whose head was under that helmet even before Bo-Katan had taken it off. First off, he had recognized the markings on the helmet right away. And secondly, the voice, even though distorted by the helmet, was unmistakable. He hasn’t heard that voice in almost twenty years, but Rau would recognize it anywhere.

As they walk down the corridor toward the outpost’s communications room, Rau also remembers that he and Bo-Katan had not parted on the best of terms. Not on _bad_ terms, exactly, but not on good ones, either. It dawns on him that this might become awkward.

Bo-Katan looks over her shoulder and addresses her warriors.

“Take a look around,” she says. “See if there are any prisoners here at all. And see if you can salvage any data from their computer system.”

“Yes, alor,” one of them says, and they break away from their little group, heading toward one of the lifts.

“I’ll take a look around, too,” Kanan says, and walks off into the opposite direction.

Which leaves Rau and Bo-Katan alone. They enter the communications room, only to find that the imperials have done their job and have disabled the communications system. Judging by the damage and the scorch marks, the system is beyond repair.

“Great,” Bo-Katan mutters.

She lifts her own comm and tries to contact her base, but only gets static. Fenn tries to contact the Countess, only to get the same result. _Great_.

Rau watches as Bo-Katan takes a look around the room. He reminds himself that he should tell Sabine that he was unable to contact her mother and turns to leave.

“Rau,” comes Bo-Katan’s voice from behind him, and Fenn turns around.

She has taken her helmet off again, and looks at him with a guarded expression, but continues to speak.

“I…I heard what happened to the Protectors. I’m sorry.”

Rau can’t hold her gaze. He looks down; the loss of his fellow Protectors still haunts him. He sighs.

“I wanted to protect them and their families by making a deal with the Empire, and in the end, it was Saxon and the Empire that killed them.”

Maybe this is what haunts him the most. That it is his fault.

“It’s not your fault,” Bo-Katan says, as if reading his mind. Rau looks up; her expression has softened and there is honest sympathy in her eyes. “You can’t know what would have happened if you and the Protectors had gone into exile. The result may have been the same.”

“Maybe,” Rau concedes. “But it still feels like it’s my fault.”

“Yeah,” Bo-Katan says, her voice laced with an old pain. “I know.”

They look at each other in silence for a few moments, but then Bo-Katan clears her throat. A small smile tucks at the corner of her mouth.

“I haven’t seen _that_ armor in what? Thirty-five years?”

Fenn looks down at himself and shrugs. “Yeah, I found I needed to go back to my roots, so to speak.”

“Where did you get it?”

Fenn grins. “It’s mine. I…kept it, when your sister had all the old armor stored away.”

Bo-Katan raises her eyebrows in what could be interpreted as a reprimand, but the small, mischievous smile spreading across her lips betrays her.

“It suits you,” she finally replies. “It always has.”

Fenn is about to make a foolish comment on how Bo-Katan doesn’t look too bad herself but is saved by Bo-Katan’s comm going off.

“Bo, this is Ursa,” the countess’ voice echoes around the room. “The situation has changed. We need to talk.”

“Alright,” Bo-Katan answers. “We’ll be right out.”

The comm goes dead, and Bo-Katan looks up at Fenn.

“This sounds serious,” she says.

Fenn nods, and starts to walk toward the exit. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“You know better than to call me that,” she says, sounding almost exasperated.

Fenn smiles to himself but keeps walking toward the door.

“Rau?”

He turns back around to Bo-Katan. “Yes?”

“It’s good to see you again.”

“You, too. Bo-Katan.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bo receives a messages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short one.
> 
> And who needs a chronological order anyway...

**Mandalore – 2 BBY**

The message I receive in the middle of the night is short, its origin untraceable.

_It’s done. He’s gone. This time for good. -K._

It takes a moment before my sleepy mind makes sense of it; before I comprehend what these few words mean. I am unprepared for the onslaught of emotions; old pain, old anger, old grief; and relief.

I am thankful for my own tent as I curl up into a ball and sob into my pillow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bo-Katan is having an uncomfortable talk with Korkie a few weeks after Satine’s death. It takes a surprising turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this started angsty and then took off in a direction I had not really intended for it to go. But, hey...why not?

To say that the atmosphere aboard our little band of ships was chilly might be the understatement of the century. It could be worse, I guess. A lot of people are alive and safe for now. Most of my Night Owls made it off Mandalore alive. Korkie and his friends are alive. A fair amount of ships carrying refugees made it off the planet, too.

And yet, one crucial person did not. Satine. Killed by Maul to get revenge. Satine and I hadn’t spoken in almost twenty years. Her pacifistic regime had no place for warriors like me. I could have stayed, had I been repentant. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t be. Hadn’t the warriors of our clan and our allies fought for her, retaken Mandalore for her, and thus paved her way to the throne? And for what? To be told that our ways were wrong and no longer valid? No. I truly couldn’t do that.

So I exiled myself to Concordia with the rest of the warriors. It was there that I met Ursa and some of the others who first formed the Night Owls, searching for ways to dethrone my sister. I wanted to end her rule, but I never wanted to end her life.

As so often, the like-minded somehow gravitate toward each other. It’s how I met Pre.

Pre. I may not have loved him, but his loss still hurts, and I mourn him. I mourn for my friend, my lover, the man I promised to marry, and the children we will never have.

I mourn Satine, too, but differently. I mourn for what we used to have in our childhood and youth, and I mourn that we will never have a chance to reconcile.

It seems strange that it is now that I would need her again. Her wit, her determination, and her cooler head. She would be much better equipped for this situation than I am.

Our current situation is not exactly good. We’re alive, yes. But that’s basically where the good news end. As it is, we are a rag-tag group of ships, jumping from system to system to escape Maul’s goons. As long as we don’t leave the sector, food and water are not easily come by. Most larger planets and systems are already swarming with Maul’s men, leaving only the smaller outposts for us to stock up. Hence, food and water are rationed. But we are getting by, so that’s not our biggest problem.

No, the biggest problem is that we are on the run with a mixture of New Mandalorians and members of Death Watch. The largest group of Death Watch are Night Owls, and they are loyal to me. The others are from different groups inside the Death Watch. For a couple of days, they fought over who should lead them, resulting in several broken bones and two deaths. In the end, I gave them a choice: work together or leave. Some left, the others folded and are now under my command. At least for now.

The New Mandalorians also bickered over who should lead them, just differently. They may have shouted or walked out of the room angrily, but it took them only a few hours to agree on a representative. I was surprised, and yet somehow not surprised, that they settled for Korkie.

Surprised, because of his age. The kid is seventeen, for kriff’s sake! But then again, he was trained to lead. No, he was trained to rule. He was Satine’s heir. The only living offspring of all of us Kryze siblings. A lot about him reminds me of Satine, not just his looks, but also parts of his personality.

So it happened that for the last few weeks, it fell to Korkie and me to make this situation work somehow. And in a way, we have. But it’s strictly business. We talk about what is absolutely necessary, and then we go back to ignoring each other as best as we can.

So, I am very much surprised at the fact that Korkie is now standing in my quarters, of his own volition, telling me that we need to talk. But I am also dreading this conversation we are about to have, because I have a feeling what it will be about. But maybe there is no way around it, so it might be better to just get it over with.

I motion to the single chair in the room, but Korkie shakes his head. Alright, standing it is, then.

I look him over, and his stance is somewhat passive aggressive. I see the muscles in his jaw flex, see how the muscles in his body are taught, and I see the hard look in his eyes. But his arms are folded over his chest, indicating that he doesn’t really want to be here.

“What would you like to talk about?” I ask as neutral as possible.

For a moment, he looks like he is looking for a diplomatic way to voice what is on his mind, but then his face hardens, and he settles for an uncharacteristically blunt answer.

“It’s your fault.”

It’s quiet for a few moments. In these moments, I see the look in Korkie’s eyes change from hard to burning.

“You wanted her off the throne; all you did in the past twenty years had no other goal than that! You killed for it, plundered, burned, and the stars know what else! You brought these monsters down on us!”

I want to answer, to yell something back at Korkie, but I come up blank. What am I supposed to tell him? That I tried to talk some sense into Pre? I did, but in the end, I followed through anyway. I trusted Pre would prevail in the end.

“You brought these vile creatures to Mandalore! Did you truly think you could control a Sith? That Maul had no ulterior motive? Were you that desperate to get her off the throne that you accepted your own sister's death?”

“No!” I yell back, and for the first time since Pre’s and Satine’s death, I am not only at the verge of tears, but the tears start running down my face unbidden. “We knew Maul wanted revenge on Kenobi, but I didn't know he planned on killing Satine to do it. The Black Sun was supposed to scare people; make Satine’s government look weak, so we could sweep in and save the day. The only people who were supposed to be dead at the end of this were Maul and his brother. Satine would be in prison for a short while, until she would get the same sentence she gave us almost twenty years ago. Exile. Leave Mandalore. She has many friends, she would have found a place to stay.”

Korkie looks at me, but I can’t read his face. I wipe the tears off my face.

“And what about the rest? The other New Mandalorians? What would have happened to them?” he wants to know.

“Nothing,” I say, sounding somewhat dumbfounded to my own ears. “We wanted to return the warrior faith to Mandalore, but…There have always been parts of our society that were not warriors. Doctors, teachers, farmers, artists…A functioning society cannot be solely made up of warriors.”

Korkie keeps looking at me. His stance is no longer as hostile as it has been before, and now he seems to visibly deflate. He sighs and walks over to the chair I offered him earlier. He sits down, and I decide to sit down on my bunk.

We sit in silence for a few moments before Korkie sighs again. His voice is almost back to business when he speaks.

“I do put part of the blame on you,” he says, and I wince. “Maybe I always will.”

I nod. “I do as well,” I admit. “And I guess I always will, too.”

We look at each other. He looks a lot like Satine. The hair, the nose, the high cheekbones. It’s almost painful to look at him. There are also parts of his personality that are a lot like her. It’s a strange sort of comfort to know that part of her will live on in him.

After a while, Korkie begins to speak again. “There is something else we need to talk about.”

“Alright.”

He frowns, like the next topic is uncomfortable to him. “There’s a large number of New Mandalorians who want to leave.”

“Leave? Leave where?”

He shrugs. “I’m not sure they know, really. They just know that they want to start over. Away from the fighting. Away from Mandalore.” After a pause he adds “Away from home.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You keep saying _they_. I guess it’s not what you want, then.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he answers, and maybe he really doesn’t. “It’s not that I don’t understand the wish for a fresh start. Their desire to put it all behind them. But…We just can’t walk away and leave Mandalore to Maul. It’s our home. _Manda’yaim_.”

In the few weeks I have known him, I have never heard him speak Mando’a. It surprises me at bit. But come to think of it, maybe it doesn’t.

“Well, you could leave without leaving Mandalore to Maul. I firmly intent to get him off Mandalore. Preferably in pieces.”

“I know,” he answers. “But…”

He makes a frustrated noise. “The others think I’m like her. That I value peace more than anything. And I do want to live in peace. It’s just…argh!”

I have to smile a little. Right now, he reminds me more of me at seventeen than of Satine.

“You are like her in many ways,” I say. “You look a lot like her, for one. You also have her wit, her determination. And I guess a lot of her sass, too. It’s those qualities that made them choose you as their leader. But in other ways, you are very different. When we teamed up to get her out of prison, I handed you a blaster and you didn’t even blink at me. You just checked its balance and if it was fully charged. You shot the guard at her cell without flinching and without hesitation.” I pause. “You were raised to be a pacifist. But if I were to check the database of the academy for your marks in hand-to-hand or your shooting scores, I guess I would find that those things come to you just as easily as debating the senselessness of war.”

Korkie looks a bit like he did something forbidden and I found out about it. I guess in a way, I did.

“You are not her, Korkie”, I say. “But you are not like me, either.”

He looks up at me, a strange mixture of surprise and uncertainty in his eyes.

“So, what do I do?” he asks. It’s an impossible question, really.

“I can’t tell you. But you know that.”

He huffs but nods his head. “Yeah, I know.”

“It is your choice, Korkie, and yours alone. If you want to leave, leave. If you don’t, stay.”

He sighs again. “I don’t want to leave,” he says, sounding certain. “I want to go home. But on the other hand, fighting for it would feel like a betrayal of everything Auntie Satine taught me.”

Strange, that he would feel about fighting like I felt - and feel - about not fighting. But...

“Well, there is more to winning a war than just the fighting. There is logistics, intelligence, tech support; it’s a long list. There are many ways to help without having to fight.”

We sit in silence for a few more moments. Then Korkie straightens up.

“I have to think this over,” he says. “You’re right, it’s my decision and it does not necessarily need to be what the others want. Maybe it’s not even such a bad thing I’m not off age yet.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, truly curious.

“Well, they chose me to represent them, yes. But I’m not yet old enough to lead them. I still have seven standard months to go.”

“But you’re Satine’s heir,” I say, unsure where he’s going with this.

“Ah, see, I was wondering when somebody would actually bring that up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I guess nobody really had any time yet to sort this out,” he says, frowning. Then his frown morphs into a sort of apologetic smile.

“I am not off age yet and you are my only living relative. That makes you my legal guardian.”

“Oh.” Well, _osik_. Wait? Oh. “Oh.”

“And I guess you just realized that you have been the Duchess of Clan Kryze for a few weeks now. And the leader of House Kryze, too, I might add.”

I feel faint. There are a million thoughts racing through my head, none of them coherent enough to make any sense.

“I…I need to let this sink in.”

We are silent for a few more moments. Then Korkie gets up.

“I guess we both have a lot to think about,” he says and walks over to the door. Then he turns around.

“As I said, I am holding you responsible for what happened,” he says. And in the way his holding himself, in his steady gaze and his calm voice, I do see the leader he could be.

“But,” he continues, “we are also stuck in this together. And maybe we will figure out a way to get through this, together.”

I smile. It’s probably the first genuine smile I’ve smiled in weeks. “_Ni ru'kel guuror ibac._”

“_Jate_,” he says, and smiles back.

I wonder how good his Mando’a is. I guess I’ll figure it out.

“Good night, Your Grace,” he says, the smile becoming an almost wicked grin. I fight the urge to throw something hat him.

He turns to leave, but then I remember something.

“Korkie?”

“Yes?”

“Ask the New Mandalorians if they would agree to stop at Vlemoth Port. If they would want to find a place to start over, Clan Awaud might be a good place to start.”

“I’ll put it to a vote,” he says, smiling again. “Good night, Aunt Bo.”

“Night, Korkie.”

He leaves and I fall back on my bunk. There is a lot that kid and I will have to work through. But for the first time since the Fall of Mandalore, I feel hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations**  
Manda'yaim - the planet Mandalore (lit.: home of the Mandalorians)  
Osik - lit.: dung (_shit_)  
Ni ru'kel guuror ibac. - I would like that.  
Jate. - Good.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ursa and Alrich celebrate their twenty-fifth anniversary. Bo and Fenn have a talk about regrets, missed chances and an only half-joked about idea what to do with their lives should they live to see the end of the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written from Fenn’s point of view.

**Krownest – 1 ABY**

I am usually not a big fan of high society gatherings. But as far as these things go, the Wrens' twenty-fifth anniversary is quite a good party. The food is delicious, the wine is good, and the music is at an appropriate level to dance to, but not so loud you have to shout over it if you want the people you are talking to to actually hear you.

The destruction of the Death Star has the Empire look for the rebel fleet, which is obviously not in the Mandalore sector. High command has pulled almost all ships out of the sector, leaving us with a momentary advantage. And apparently with time to throw a party.

I am in a strange position tonight. I am an invited guest, out of armor like everyone else, enjoying the reprieve from the war. On the other hand, I am a Protector. And since there was no time to build up the Protectors again from scratch so far, I am still the _only_ Protector. Which means I don’t really have a night off.

My eyes trail over the crowd out of habit. The party seems joyful, but if you look closer, you can see a lot of tension, though it is well disguised.

Sabine is home; and though no one really argues with her decision to stay on Lothal – a promise is a promise after all – it messed with a lot of plans.

Ursa had hoped that Sabine would eventually return to Krownest and take her place as heiress of Clan Wren.

Tristan had hoped the same, as it would have given him a greater freedom in choosing his own path. He had to help bear the burden of Sabine’s absence after all, his path never truly his own. The prospect of Sabine’s return lifted a weight of the boy’s shoulders he probably didn’t even know was there. He’s a good kid, and already a capable warrior. He had shown an interest in becoming a Protector and I had even begun to train him. Bo-Katan and I were both pleased with the results. But Sabine’s promise to Ezra and her subsequent stay on Lothal has de facto put an end to that. Tristan is now the heir again. To Ursa’s credit, she sent Tristan in her stead to be part of Bo-Katan’s council, enabling him to keep training whenever possible.

Even Bo-Katan herself had hoped Sabine would stay on Mandalore, as it would have solved the matter of succession. Traditionally, there is no real line of succession. In a clan, yes, but not for the position of Mand’alor. So it’s technically not a problem. A new, strong, and hopefully capable ruler will just be chosen as we chose Bo-Katan. But historically, this process often led to, or was preceded by, civil war. Something Mandalore might not come back from again, even if we win this war. In our current predicament, it would be better to have someone ascend to the throne a vast majority can get behind without fighting a war first. Sabine could have been this person. So now, even if we win this war, the future of Mandalore is uncertain, and the legacy Bo-Katan will leave could be wiped out within years.

As I let my eyes wander, I see Sabine. The loss of Kanan Jarrus and Ezra Bridger has left her changed. More thoughtful, and sadder. Which isn’t surprising at all. Kanan was a father to her for many years. And Ezra? I’m not sure she knows herself. They were friends, best friends even. And maybe, at the end, there might have been a potential for more.

She is sitting next to her brother, and they are both silent. Tristan says he isn’t mad at her, but that it will take some time before things are back to normal. No, that’s not what he said. He said _until they find a new normal._ And ain’t that an apt description. Anyway, I watch him eye Sabine’s half-eaten piece of uj cake, and when she notices, she smiles at him and hands him the plate. He smiles back. And I am confident they will find a _new normal_.

Next to them are Ursa and Alrich. The countess is wearing a dark gray dress and the look Alrich is giving her can only be described as _besotted_. Then again, she looks at him the same way. It is a strange look for a woman as formidable as the countess, but it also gives me hope that there are things in this galaxy that are still untouched by darkness and evil, and if it is two people looking at each other on their twenty-fifth anniversary just like they did on the day they got married.

My eyes drift further to Bo-Katan, who looks at Ursa and Alrich with a bemused expression on her face. I allow my eyes to linger on her for a while. She, too, is wearing a dress. Dark purple, with her shoulders and arms completely exposed. Unlike many other women tonight, she's not wearing a necklace or earrings. But she has exchanged her usual headband for a golden one, and it shimmers in the light, setting of her red hair beautifully. The only reminder of her age are the white streaks in her hair, and the fine lines on her forehead, permanently creased by a life spend mostly on the run. But Bo-Katan Kryze ages gracefully, and I am afraid I will still find her beautiful when we are truly old and gray.

I watch as Bo-Katan’s face changes, and she sighs and gets up. Ursa and Alrich are so lost in each other’s company that they don’t notice. I follow her with my eyes until I see her leave the hall. I am her Protector, so I follow her, albeit at a distance.

She walks until she finds an unlocked common room with access to a balcony. The room is dark and so is the balcony. But the moon is out, and I can see her silhouette standing by the bannister, just looking up into the night sky. If she is cold, she doesn’t show it. But she must be cold. I look a round the room and find a discarded blanket lying around on one of the sofas.

I pick it up but do not walk outside yet. I know Bo-Katan, and I know she just wants a few moments to herself.

But she stays outside far longer than I anticipated, and I eventually resolve to at least give her the blanket.

The doors to the balcony swish open, and Bo-Katan turns around to look at me.

“I know you want to be alone,” I say, “but do be alone with the blanket.”

I walk over to her, and I can see the goosebumps on her arms. I hand her the blanket and she wraps it around her shoulders, pulling it closed in front of her chest.

Despite the biting cold on Krownest, the crisp winter air feels good compared to the stuffy air in the great hall downstairs. I take a deep breath and resolve to find my own empty balcony later tonight. But before I can turn to leave, Bo-Katan starts to speak.

“Stay a while?”

I look at her in surprise. “Of course,” I tell her.

We settle next to each other, looking out over the frozen lake, shimmering in an eerie light blue in the moonlight. We don’t talk at first. We don’t really need to. We both know that sometimes you just need silent company. Bo-Katan and I were never people of many words, and our mutual reluctance for unnecessary conversation makes us very good silent company for each other.

But there is something bugging Bo-Katan, I can feel it. But I don’t pry. If she wants to talk about it, she will. To my surprise, she does.

“Do you ever regret it?”

I frown. There’s a lot of things I regret. “What exactly?”

“Not settling down, I mean.”

In a way, I did settle down. I lived on Concord Dawn for most of my life after all, doing the same job. But I guess that’s not all she means my _settling down_.

Do I regret it?

“Sometimes, yes,” I tell her. “Mostly, no.”

“Explain, please.”

“Do I sometimes think about what it would be like to come home, sit down at a dinner table and talk about normal, everyday stuff? Ask my wife how her day was? Ask my children if they’ve finished their homework or tidied up their rooms? Yes, I do. But then again, with whom? I had years on Concord Dawn to build that kind of life and I never did. It just never felt right. And if I had, I would most likely have yet another reason to hate the Empire.”

Bo-Katan winces slightly, but nods.

“And you?” I ask back. She wouldn’t have brought this up if she wouldn’t want to talk about it herself.

Bo-Katan smiles a sad smile. “Sometimes,” she answers. “Mostly, no, but it wells up on days like this.”

I nod. Yes, watching Ursa and Alrich does make me long for something similar, too.

“For a few weeks, the life I thought I wanted was almost within reach,” Bo-Katan continues. “For a few weeks, I truly thought that Death Watch would win, Pre would rule with me beside him, and our children would rule Mandalore long after we were gone. Before Maul ended it all with a single stroke of that cursed blade.”

I look out over the lake again. Bo-Katan hardly ever talks about her time with Death Watch, even though she helped build it. It’s even rarer that she talks about Pre Vizsla, even though I know they were more than commander and lieutenant.

I hear her sigh. “But that’s a long time ago,” she says. “And given the siege, my regency, Saxon’s betrayal and countless years on the run, I am glad I don’t have children. It’s just…”

She sighs in frustration, as if she doesn’t know how to put her thoughts into words.

“It would just be nice to have someone beside you instead of doing it all alone?” I offer.

She looks at me, a small smile on her face.

“Yes,” she agrees. “Don’t get me wrong, I know I am not alone in this. I know I have friends and extended family who are doing all this with me. It’s just…Sometimes it just feels like I _am_ alone in this. I don’t really know how to explain it…”

“But I think I do know what you mean,” I answer. “Your position is singular. There is only one _Mand’alor_. You can have advisers and councilors, but all decisions are ultimately yours. There is no one that can take that burden away from you.”

Bo-Katan frowns. “Is that also how it is for you?” she asks. “Being the only Protector?”

“Kind of. Should I fail…,” I begin, but don’t continue. The possibility of failing, of misjudging a situation and watch her die is a reoccurring nightmare.

I suddenly feel her hand in mine, her fingers giving it a small squeeze.

“You know what I think?” she asks, and I shake my head in response.

“We’ve known each other for what now, thirty-seven years? You were my Protector then, until _I_ left. Then, more than fifteen years later, during the siege, you were my Protector again, until _you_ decided to make a deal with the Empire. And now, twenty years later, you are my Protector yet again. And I think we both know that neither you nor I are leaving again. That this is, one way or the other, our last fight. In a society of warriors, you and I are old, Fenn. Chances are, we will not survive this war. One of these days, we’ll be outnumbered and outgunned, and you and I will die right next to each other.”

“And should we win and live?”

“Then we have to build it all back up, don’t we?”

I shrug. “Yeah, I guess so.”

We are silent for a while, but then the question escapes my mouth anyway.

“If you could choose…after the war, what would you really want to do?”

Bo-Katan looks at me, her green eyes searching mine. But then a small smile moves her lips, and she snorts out a soft laugh while shaking her head.

“Korkie and his family are well hidden,” she says. “The world they live on is a far out, back water world. But it’s nice, peaceful. There is a part of me, a growing part, that wants nothing more than to go there and spend the rest of my years resting in a comfortable chair with my feet up, watching my grand-nieces grow up.”

“Now that sounds like a plan. There room for an aging Protector on that planet?” I ask. “Maybe a nice little apartment? Chance to give a few flying lessons…”

“Why not?” Bo-Katan answers. “My third niece supposedly badgers Korkie that she wants to learn how to fly, so I think I might just find you your first customer.”

“It’s a deal, then.”

We both chuckle but stop eventually, knowing that it will never be reality.

But her hand is still in mine, and her thumb is rubbing gently along the back of my hand, and maybe there is something else I regret. I regret not staying with her after the siege. The Protectors serve the throne, whether the rightful ruler is currently in Sundari or elsewhere. Isn’t that what we did during the civil war? Didn’t we keep serving Satine even though she was on the run? Didn’t I protect Bo-Katan back then?

I open my mouth to say something, but Bo-Katan shakes her head.

“There are many things in our pasts to regret, Fenn Rau,” she says. “But the past is just that: the past. There is nothing we can do to change it. I am just glad that this time, we are in this together no matter what.”

She looks up at me; her short hair swinging slightly in the light breeze, her skin pale in the moonlight, and her green eyes searching mine for _something._ If there ever was a moment to kiss a beautiful woman that I have harbored feelings for for the past thirty-seven years, it is now. I start to lean in and-

The door swishes open, and Bo-Katan and I almost jump apart, startled out of our moment.

“There you are!” Alrich Wren says, smiling at us, obviously pleased that he found us. “Ursa is looking for you.”

Bo-Katan clears her throat and has the grace to sound almost normal when she answers. “Yes, sure.”

Alrich smiles again, turns around, and basically bounces away.

Bo-Katan and I sigh. But the moment is gone, at least for now. We follow Alrich inside back down into the great hall, and let the company engulf us for the rest of the evening.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To hell with it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place the same night as the previous chapter.

**Krownest – 1 ABY**

It’s late when I finally decide that I can leave the party without offending anyone. The Wren stronghold is packed with visitors, but Ursa still managed to find me a room. She had tried to give me the biggest guest room she has, but I don’t really need that. I might be the _Mand’alor_, but I usually sleep on a cot or my bunk on the ship, so there really is no need for anything fancy tonight. Alrich’s mother his having that room now, and knowing her, that’s probably for the best…

The room I am lodging in is small but comfortable, with large windows as we Mandalorians like it.

I’ve changed into some soft, comfortable pants and a tank top. I’ve taken my headband off, too. Why people believe I sleep with that thing on is beyond me, really. That would be uncomfortable. Its only function is to keep my hair back during the day, after all.

My body is tired, but my head won’t shut up. It’s going in circles over the conversation Fenn and I had on the balcony earlier this evening…and where it led. Well, would have led, if Alrich hadn’t shown up untimely. I wanted for Fenn to kiss me, and I am sure he would have, if not for the interruption.

So, here I am, lying in my bed, unable to sleep. It’s as if I am a teenager again, wondering what my crush is doing right now. I have to giggle at the comparison, but it’s not that far-fetched if I am honest. And while I am being honest with myself, I also have to admit that Fenn has been on my mind a lot ever since the day I was proclaimed _Mand’alor_.

We’ve been on opposing sides for most of the time we’ve known each other. But the time we did spend together…First during the civil war, then during the siege; we were always good together. And then, that day we freed Alrich, we fell right back into our old patterns. It was as if the past twenty years hadn’t happened; it was so easy…

And yet, we are not the same people we have been thirty-seven or even twenty years ago. And maybe the people we used to be would not be here together right now. We are older, and maybe age and, as harsh as that sounds, loss, have tempered us.

For the past two years, there has hardly been a day we’ve spent apart. I think I can count the number of those days on one hand. We plan, fight, spar, eat and talk together. And there are these moments, almost unnoticeably at first, but almost always now…a look, a fleeting touch, a smile…_something_ that pulls at my heart, even though I thought I fortified myself against such feelings and emotions.

Well, it’s not just my heart that’s being pulled at. There has always been a physical attraction between us…we’ve just never ventured down that path.

To say I’ve been abstinent since Pre’s death would be a lie. I have needs, and I do satisfy them. Mostly by myself, but now and then…But in the past two years? No, there have been no men in the past two years. Everyone I look at, I compare to Fenn…and none of them hold up.

I let out a frustrated sigh and get up. I can’t sleep, no matter how hard I try. Maybe I should take a little walk? But there are still people partying downstairs and they might come up here on their way to bed. I don’t think most people would want to see their _Mand’alor_ in her comfy sleeping clothes. But staying here is somewhat not an option either.

So I grab a cardigan I usually store on my kom’rk, but had the foresight to throw into my overnight bag before Fenn and I left the ship this afternoon, and put it on. I open my door and peek out into the hallway. But it’s empty, and I can’t hear anyone move around behind the next corners.

My eyes fall on the door directly opposite of mine. It’s Fenn’s room. Is he in yet? Maybe, but not necessarily. He’s a guest tonight after all, and it’s his good right to stay downstairs as long as he pleases.

My feet start walking over to his door on their own account. I look up and down the hallway again, but there is still no one around.

I cock my head a little and listen at Fenn’s door. There is movement behind it, and I hear Fenn mutter something in Concordian I can’t quite make out.

Suddenly, the door swishes open, and I jump back with a strangled noise of surprise. Fenn is mirroring my movements, clearly just as surprised by my obviously unexpected presence.

His mouth is moving like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. It’s then I start to hear laughter somewhere around the next corner, and before someone can see us like this, I automatically duck past Fenn and into his room.

His room looks almost exactly like mine, but the moon is on this side of the building and illuminates everything in a silvery glow. I turn around to look at Fenn again. He’s in his bed clothes, too; loose pants and a washed-out shirt.

We’ve seen each other like this before. If we have to leave Mandalore for something, it’s always Fenn and me on my kom’rk. With hyperspace travel being almost completely safe, we usually use the time to catch up on sleep. And we usually allow ourselves to indulge the next morning, having a cup of caf in the small galley still in our bed clothes, which we find to be a luxury, given that it is so different from our usual daily routine.

But given the events of earlier tonight, this feels different. I am nervous and my stomach flutters; I can hear my blood rushing in my ears, and I realize that my breathing is faster than usual. And the look in Fenn’s blue eyes, sparkling in the moonlight, taking in my sight as I stand here in his room, is making my skin tingle. And I make a decision.

“Rangir?” I ask, my voice uncharacteristically low and raspy. _To hell with it?_

“Rangir,” Fenn answers, and with only a few steps, closes the distance between us. He cups my face with both his hands and then his lips crash down on mine.

It takes a moment for my brain to form a coherent thought again. By then, Fenn’s arms are around me, holding me close against him, and my arms are looped around his neck, pulling him down so his lips won’t leave mine.

We part eventually to come up for air, both of us panting. I can’t help myself; I grin like a stupid idiot. But then, so does Fenn. He leans his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.

He lets go off my middle and cups my face in his hands again. And then his lips are on mine again, but softer this time, slower. Fenn’s lips leave mine to kiss along my jawline, his lips soft against the sensitive skin right under my ear. His hands have fallen to my shoulders and are pushing my cardigan down; over my shoulders and down my arms, until it falls to the floor with a quiet thud.

Well, if he is removing my clothing, I can do the same with his. My hands find the hem of his old shirt and I push it up. Fenn lifts his arms and I push the shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor, too.

I kiss him again and let my hands roam around the newly uncovered skin. Fenn and I might no longer be young, but we are warriors, and his body shows it. He’s muscled; not in the bulky way some warriors are, but leaner, more graceful perhaps. There is hair on his chest, but not his stomach, except for the fine line starting again at his navel and vanishing below the waistband of his pants. The thought of where that leads makes the lower half of my body painfully aware of what it wants.

Fenn’s hands have found the hem of my top and have slipped beneath it. I sigh into his mouth as he pushes the top up, and mirror his movement from just moments before. I hold my arms up so he can slip the top over my head.

For a moment, Fenn just stares, a look of incredulous disbelief on his face. Then he leans down and presses his forehead into mine.

“Damn,” he mutters, and his lips capture mine again.

His hands start their own exploration; and then his hand cups one of my breasts, his thumb grazing over a nipple, and there is a sound somewhere between a content sigh and a needy whimper that escapes my mouth.

I pull Fenn toward the bed, and he willingly follows. And then Fenn is above me, kissing me again, his hands warm and gentle on my skin. I close my eyes and relax into the pillows and the soft mattress.

Fenn’s lips leave mine again, moving steadily down. Down my throat, over my collarbones; until he reaches my breasts.

He spends stars know how long there; licking, sucking, pinching. And stars, that man knows what he’s doing. I am panting; writhing with need and with my fingers gripping the covers just to have something to hold on to, just to stay sane.

Just when I think I might come just from this, he moves on, kissing over my stomach until he reaches the waistline of my pants. He pulls them off together with my underwear, carefully pealing them off my legs.

His hands slowly move up my legs again, all the way to my hips. He kisses the inside of my thigh, moving further up with every little peg, until he reaches his destination.

Fenn makes a sound as if someone has put a large plate of his favorite food in front of him. I open my mouth to make a comment about that, but all that comes out is a strangled cry as he flicks his tongue over my exposed parts.

The world around me fades away as Fenn keeps kissing and licking and sucking away between my legs; my consciousness reduced to the parts of my body where his mouth and his hands are. And it’s good; so, so good, and I let go, letting the orgasm wash over me with my hips bucking into Fenn’s mouth and a soft cry escaping my lips.

For a while, I just lie there, panting and trying to force my heartbeat to slow down. I feel Fenn crawl up and lie down next to me. I open my eyes and look right into his. There are so many things to be read in them as they roam over my face. I bring up my hand to cup his cheek, the stubble of his beard lightly scratching my palm, and bring his lips down to mine.

I am usually not a big fan of tasting myself, but with Fenn, I don’t mind. With Fenn, I actually kind of like it.

I role onto my side and slip my arm around Fenn’s middle, pressing my body against his. I can feel his arousal against my pubic bone; and I let my hand slide to his stomach and let it dip below the waistband of his pants. Fenn groans into my mouth as my fingers curl around his length.

I grin and push Fenn on his back. I begin to tuck down his pants and underwear and Fenn helps by kicking them off. For a moment, I just look at Fenn. He’s propped up on his elbows, which accents the muscles of his arms, chest and stomach. But the best things are his eyes, looking at me like I am a miracle not from this world, and it takes my breath away.

I slowly move to straddle his hips, and then carefully guide him inside me. We both sigh in unison, and then we both have to chuckle. I start to slowly role my hips and simply enjoy the feeling of him inside me.

I watch Fenn watching me. There is a sort of fascination in his eyes; and I am certain that no man has ever looked at me like that, and it takes my breath away again.

Fenn suddenly sits up, looping one arm around my hips as I make a surprised noise. We stop moving, and for a moment, I am afraid that something is wrong.

“Fenn?” I ask, sounding worried.

But Fenn smiles and pushes some wayward strands of hair behind my ear.

“Tell me that I am not dreaming,” he says.

“You are not dreaming,” I answer automatically.

“Good,” he says, and then he’s kissing me, pulling me impossibly close, and I melt against him as my worries melt away.

We stay like this, wrapped around each other, even when we start moving again. We keep it slow, allowing our hands and mouths to wander. It’s a slow and beautiful climb to the peak, and the reward at the top is almost indescribable. For a few moments, I lose all sense of self. It feels like Fenn and I are a million glowing particles floating in space, dancing around each other; two souls connected in the endless vastness of the universe.

In reality, Fenn and I are a panting and sweating mess; and I never cared less than right now. Fenn slowly lies back down, pulling me with him. I rest my head on his chest, listening to his accelerated heartbeat.

I feel both of us drifting off, but there is something I have to say before we fall asleep. There is one thing I don’t want to regret later for _not_ having done it.

“Fenn?”

“Mmh?”

I look up at him, meeting his eyes.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

He looks at me again with this look of pure wonder in his eyes, but then a bright smile spreads across his face.

“Ibac cuyir jate.” _That’s good_, he says. “Jorcu ni balyc kar'taylir darasuum gar.“ _Because I love you, too._

I crane my neck up so I can kiss him. It’s not like the heated and passionate kisses from before. It’s a small and gentle kiss; the almost ordinary kind I hope to share a thousand more with Fenn Rau. And maybe it’s a good thing that this kiss is like that. Because perhaps it conveys more of a meaning to those words than any fancy kiss could ever do.

I slip off Fenn, but cuddle into his side, with my head pillowed on his shoulder and my arm draped around his middle. I sigh contently, and hear Fenn do the same, his arm looping around my back and his fingers lazily moving up and down my upper arm.

As I drift off, I wonder if there is more to say. But no. I love Fenn, and he loves me. And there is no need for anything else to be said at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum_ \- I love you (lit.: I hold you in my heart)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the rest still sleeps off their hangover from celebrating Alrich’s rescue and their new _Mand’alor_, Bo and Fenn have a talk in the early hours of the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t written anything for this collection in a while since I was on a roll with _The Other Kryze Girl_. But life is crazy right now and I hardly find the time to write, even though my head is full with so many things I want to write about, so I decided to get rid of some of the excess ides in my head and continue here for today. Technically, we are not behind closed doors in this chapter, but it’s two people alone and away from other, so I'd say it still counts...

**Mandalore – 1 BBY**

I’m an early riser; I always have been and since it hasn’t changed in fifty years, I most likely always will be.

At this hour, the camp is still quiet, everyone else still asleep. And today even more so, given that everyone enjoyed the _ne’tra gal_ and the _tihaar_ last night maybe a little too much. I didn’t drink enough to be hung over or have a headache, but I don’t feel like eating either. But I get myself a cup of steaming caf and walk a little away from camp to the edge of the cliff we’re on.

Dawn is coming on slowly, and there is a fine silvery line right above the horizon. And I am apparently not the only one enjoying the quiet out here.

Fenn Rau is sitting on the edge, legs dangling over the cliff side. He turns around when he hears me approach, and smiles.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You don’t,” he says and sounds sincere enough.

I indicate to the spot next to him. “May I?”

“Sure.”

I sit down, careful not to spill my caf all over the place. I look over and see that Fenn is holding his own steaming mug.

We watch the sky turn a grayish-blue until I finally resolve to ask.

“When are you leaving for Krownest?” I ask. “Ursa wasn’t very particular after a few too many shots of _tihaar_.”

Rau turns his head to look at me, a frown forming on his face.

“I…wasn’t planning on going back to Krownest.”

“You’ll leave with the Ghost crew then?”

“Uhm…no…I-“, he stops, the frown on his face slowly morphing into something that could be called uncertainty.

“I wasn’t planning on leaving at all,” he says. And after a small break he adds “Unless you want me to.”

“You’re a grown man,” I say, now frowning myself. “You can go wherever you please.”

Rau sighs in what sounds like exasperation.

“I’m a Protector,” he says, as if that statement would clear up this verbal mess we seem to be in.

It takes a few moments until I realize what he means and have to stifle an urge to face-palm.

“I just…” I begin, but stop. How am going to word this to not offend anyone?

“I agree with you, you know?” I decide on. “That Sabine could lead Mandalore.”

“Are you questioning my loyalty?” Rau asks, sounding offended.

“No! No, of course not,” I quickly tell him. So much for not offending him. “On the contrary, actually. What I am trying to say is that I would understand if you’d rather stick around Sabine. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

I watch Rau as he watches the horizon. His face seems passive, but I remember him from my regency; remember how his eyes tend to tell more than his face. Then he sighs.

“On the one hand,” he says, “you are right. There is a part of me that wants to stay with her. Help her, teach her. But on the other hand…I’ve neglected my duties for a very long time. In a way, it was Sabine who reminded me of what and who Protectors are. Or should be.”

He inhales deeply, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. Then he continues.

“And to leave now…now that we finally have a _Mand’alor_ again…it would feel like an even greater betrayal than it felt seventeen years ago.”

“I wasn’t the _Mand’alor_ back then.”

“No,” he admits. “But you as good as were. It was a matter of time. You were appointed Regent, and without the Empire, you would have been proclaimed _Mand’alor_. And you would have had the Protectors’ allegiance.”

“You saved my life back then,” I tell him. Remind him. “Without the help of the Protectors, I would have never made it off this dust ball alive.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “And maybe that’s just it. As Protectors, we serve the sovereign. If I leave now…” He inhales deeply, his voice quivering, though almost imperceptibly. “If I leave now, the Protectors would be truly gone. I would break centuries of traditions and oaths. I am already the last Protector, with the deaths of my fellow _Cabure_ forever on my conscience, with their blood forever – at least partly – on my hands. Don’t expect me to give up the only chance I have to truly honor their memory.”

I reach out and grab one of his wrists, as his hands are still curled around his mug. It’s an instinctive reaction. I feel for him; I feel with him.

“I would be honored to have you as my Protector, Fenn Rau,” I tell him honestly. “And I am glad that you will stay.”

“Thank you,” he says, and for a moment, covers my hand with his before we both let go.

“Any orders, _ner alor_?” he asks, almost grinning down at me.

I squint, but then grin, too. “First order of the day…or any day, for that matter: Finish the first cup of caf in peace in quiet.”

Rau blinks at me, but I keep grinning, and then he throws his head back and laughs.

“Peace and quiet!” I remind him, but his laugh is catching, and I have to chuckle a bit, too.

But we do drink our caf in relative peace after that, watching the sun rise of Mandalore on a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mando'a translations**
> 
> _ne'tra gal_ \- black ale  
_tihaar_ \- clear spirit made from fruit  
_Mand'alor_ \- sole ruler of Mandalore  
_Cabur(e)_ \- Protector(s)  
_ner alor_ \- my chief


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Korkie feels guilty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been spooking around in my head for a few days now. And it’s a great way to distract myself from grading math exams ;-P

**Mandalore – between 20 and 19 BBY**

There is something about large buildings at night. A quietness that seems to have a sound of its own; the low humming of the air conditioning, the almost inaudible sizzling of the lights, the echo of my footsteps in the empty hallway.

I can’t sleep. I’ve tried, but after tossing and turning for over an hour, I gave up. Now, I am on my way down to what is generally referred to as ‘the basement’. It isn’t really the building’s basement, but I guess it’s aptly named. It’s a place where you only go when you’re told to; and a place where you hide the stuff you don’t want others to see. In case of the academy, it’s the place where we train.

Some of it innocent enough, I guess. The swimming pool, for example. Or the track. Most Mandalorians have a knack for staying fit and healthy. Something even Auntie Satine approves of.

But everything else down here, she calls ‘a necessary evil’. Like the sparring rooms. Or the shooting range.

Auntie Satine values peace more than anything. But even she knows that a pacifist planet is a vulnerable planet. Especially now as the Clone Wars rage throughout the galaxy. As much as the neutral systems try to stay out of it; no one can guarantee that either the Confederacy or the Republic won’t get any wayward ideas where Mandalore is concerned. It is the only reason why we are trained to defend ourselves.

I like the training, but I never say so. To no one. I can’t tell Auntie, obviously. And I am fairly certain that if I would say something of that sort to my instructors, Auntie Satine would be the first to know. It would only worry her. Worry her that I might walk down the same road as Aunt Bo.

Aunt Bo. I was very young when she left. Auntie Satine never talks about her, and hence I don’t bring it up, either. I don’t want to cause Auntie pain. Only once, she asked if I remember Aunt Bo at all. I told her I didn’t.

I stop in front of a large set of doors. I inhale and exhale; slowly, deliberately. I usually don’t lie to her, but in that case… Well, it was half a lie, if such a thing exists. I don’t recall any specific memories that have Aunt Bo in them. But I do recall _her_. Her face, her voice. I remember having fun with her; more of a feeling than an actual memory, really. I remember that she didn’t mind if I was loud or played a bit too rough. I remember her laugh, and I remember cuddling her and feeling safe.

I punch in the code, and the doors slowly open. For a moment, I consider just running a few laps. That might be the best option if I want to wear myself out and hope for easier sleep. But it’s not really what I want.

As I am the only one down here, I feel relatively safe, and make my way over to the shooting range. All weapons are safely stored away behind shields. To some, only the instructors have the key codes. But everyone can check out a regular blaster and an energy pack. So, I type in the code and release a standard WESTAR from its place on the wall behind the shield. It indicates that its energy pack is fully loaded.

The blaster feels like a foreign object in my hand, and yet familiar at the same time. I sigh and make my way over to a booth. The target at the far wall lights up on its own.

I sigh again and try to relax. Legs shoulder wide apart, shoulders relaxed, arms slightly bend, the right balance between push and pull. And I pull the trigger. Once, twice. Again, and again, until the signal for ten shots fired makes me stop, and I take a closer look at the target.

“You know,” comes a voice from behind, “you are the only pacifist I know with the score card of a sharpshooter.”

I turn around, and sigh again.

“Up too?”

Soniee shrugs but grins. “Obviously.”

We look at each other for a moment. For a second, I want to say ‘Don’t tell anyone’. But my mouth won’t form the words. Then again, we are friends. Shouldn’t I trust her?

“Don’t worry,” she says after a while. “Your secret is safe with me. After all, you’re not the only one.”

I cock my head and raise my eyebrows. “Really?”

Soniee shrugs again, but then holds her hand out. After hesitating for a second, I hand her the blaster and step aside. She pulls up a new target, aims, and fires. All ten shots hit the center, or at least very close to it. I’ve never seen her do that before.

She looks at me, her face an apologetic smile.

“If you know how to aim, you also know how to make it look like you can’t.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” I frown. “It never occurred to me to miss on purpose.”

“I know,” she says. “You are too honest.”

I wince. “No, I’m not.”

Now it’s Soniee’s turn to sigh.

“We all have secrets, Korkie,” she says. “Parts of ourselves we don’t want the world to see. Not out of ill will; on the contrary. There are people we don’t want to hurt. You don’t want to hurt or worry your aunt. I don’t want to hurt my parents, either. I don’t think they would understand.”

“Understand what?”

“How one can believe that non-violence is always the better answer, while on the other hand being good at stuff like this,” she says, waving the gun vaguely in the direction of the target.

I look at her target for a while.

“I don’t want to have these secrets,” I admit.

“I know,” she sighs. “Me neither.”

After a few moments, a soft giggle escapes her mouth.

“Then again,” Soniee says, “this is no longer a secret, is it? As I now know yours and you know mine.”

I cock my head to one side. “Well…Maybe it’s a sort of shared secret.”

Soniee smiles. “Might be better that way.”

We look at each other for a moment.

“Soniee?”

“Mm?”

“Do you ever feel guilty about it?”

Soniee looks down, like she is studying her shoes.

“Yes,” she admits. “Yes, I do.”

I nod. “Me too.”

We both sigh and look in different directions. After a while, Soniee motions for the target.

“You want to go another round?”

“No,” I shake my head. “I think I want to try to go to bed again.”

Soniee nods, places the blaster back at the wall, and reactivates the shield.

###

We leave the basement together, making our way up to the dorms. I walk Soniee to her door out of habit.

“Night Soniee.”

“Night.”

She opens her door, but before she steps through, she turns around to look back at me.

“Tomorrow night,” she begins, looking up and down the corridor as if to check if anyone else is up at this hour. “Tomorrow night,” she says again, this time only a whisper. “Want to spar?”

I should tell her no. I really should. But all I say is “yes”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> The next chapter of _The Other Kryze Girl_ is halfway finished, too. :-)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bo-Katan feels unsure about the clones. Ahsoka gets a lesson in Mandalorian customs and faith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. There’s been a lot of talk on how Bo talks to Boba, calling Jango his “donor” and her seeming to have a problem with clones in general, even though they helped her get Maul off Mandalore. If you look closer in season seven of TCW, you hear the Mandalorian citizens – at least in Sundari – not being very happy with clones on their planet in general, either. They had an easier time accepting Maul as their ruler than accepting clones. Why?
>   2. This chapter is not an excuse for rude behavior! So far, Bo-Katan is quite an a**hole and very self-centered in _The Mandalorian_.
>   3. This chapter takes place after Bo asks Ahsoka for help. From Ashoka’s POV.
>   4. This chapter took a different turn while I wrote it…Does this surprise my readers? Probably not…

**Open space – 19 BBY**

The ship is quiet; traveling through hyperspace is safe, and the Mandalorians use the time to get some rest. I should be getting some rest, too. I’ve tried but failed. I’ve tried to meditate, but there is a lingering feeling of unease around, and it makes it hard to concentrate.

We agreed on a plan in general, but I feel like some of it doesn’t sit well with the Mandalorians. It feels like they accepted the plan for lack of a better alternative.

I make my way to the bridge and find Bo-Katan alone. She feels different in the force than the last time I met her on Carlac. Back then, she felt…_mean_. She had enjoyed the destruction Death Watch had wreaked; had felt no mercy for the people whose lives she had taken. Now, she feels…I don’t know…It’s not one thing. She feels lost, sad, exhausted. But there is a sort of tenacity, a sense of duty, and – in a way – a sense honor. There is a lot of turmoil underneath. Sometimes, it’s showing on her face, though she tries to school her features back into a scowl. It doesn’t always work.

Bo-Katan looks up when I enter the bridge. She looks tired but seems to have too much on her mind to find rest.

“Do you have a moment?” I ask her.

She shrugs. “Sure.”

I sit down in the co-pilot’s chair and look out off the window into the blue and white swirl of hyperspace.

“You and your people seem to be a bit…uncertain…about the plan.”

Bo-Katan scrunches up her face but doesn’t say anything.

“I’d rather like to know why before we make contact with Obi-Wan,” I venture.

Bo grimaces, but then sighs.

“I don’t know if you’d understand,” she says.

“Try,” I answer. “Will never know if you don’t tell me.”

She huffs out a mirthless laugh. “No, I guess not.”

She takes a deep breath, but then continues. “Do you trust the clones?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Blindly.”

“Yes.” I see Bo turn away her face, but I continue before she has a chance to shut down the conversation. “Not because I blindly trust people. I do because they’ve earned my trust many times over.”

Bo-Katan turns her head back to look at me, her face unreadable. I sigh.

“I sense that not only you, but everyone on this ship seems to have a problem with the clones’ involvement in this. I’d just like to understand why.”

Now it’s Bo’s turn to sigh. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try.”

Bo studies me for a moment, then seems to deflate a little. “Alright,” she says. She turns slightly to look out into hyperspace, a concentrated look on her face, like she’s trying to get her thoughts in a coherent order for me to make sense of them.

“Mandalorians are a warrior people,” she begins. “As that, your clones do not seem strange or foreign to us. Nor does their armor. It’s things we understand and can relate to. It’s more of what is underneath. Though us Mandalorians wear armor and wear a helmet at often as not, making it hard for outsiders to tell us apart, we know that underneath, there are individuals.”

I frown. “Clones are individuals,” I cut in, sounding unfriendly, I know.

“Really? How individual can you be when millions wear the same face?”

“It’s not about the face,” I try to explain. “I mean, yes, they all share the same DNA, but they are not all the same person. Maybe it’s easer for the Jedi to tell, because we can sense them in the Force. And not two of them feel the same. They are all very different. And they have a need to express that individuality, from early on. Different haircuts, different tattoos; some have beards, others don’t. And like you Mandalorians, they paint their armor. You can tell by looking at their armor where they belong. Like when I see someone with blue on their armor, I know they belong to the 501st. Or that orange means they belong to Obi-Wan’s 212th. Their personalities are very different, too. Just like everyone else.”

Bo-Katan makes a non-committal noise. I sense I still haven’t convinced her. I keep studying her.

“I don’t think it’s about the face,” I say after a while. “I’m pretty sure there are identical twins on Mandalore, and no one would ever say they are not individuals. It’s something else.”

There is a flash of something across Bo’s face, like I picked up on something.

“I would appreciate it if you’d explain,” I tell her. “And I’ll try not to judge.”

Bo-Katan sighs again. “No, it’s not about the face,” she admits after a while. “It’s about the _how_ of their existence that we have a problem with. You see, the core of Mandalorian society used to be the notion of family and clan. _Aliit_. The idea of parenthood is rather strong in our society; so deeply rooted that it is even part of our wedding vows. The tenets of our faith, the _Resol’nare_, ask of us to raise our children as Mandalorians. To make sure we do not jeopardies their souls. The idea of children coming into this world without a natural parent, without being _born_, without being raised by family, is almost heretic to us.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes.

“You are judging,” Bo says eventually.

I shake my head. “No, not really. It’s just very different from what I was taught, that’s all.”

“There is a reason Mandalorians and Jedi don’t get along too well,” Bo-Katan answers. “The idea to hand over a child to be raised with strangers is so utterly against what we believe…”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

We are silent for a few more moments.

“Can I ask you something else?” I venture.

Bo shrugs. “I guess while we’re at it…”

“What do Mandalorians believe comes after death? You said you raise children to be Mandalorians, so you don’t risk their souls. You must have a notion of what comes after.”

Bo-Katan nods. “We do actually,” she says. “We believe that a Mandalorian’s soul will live on in the _Manda_, a sort of afterlife, like a collective soul of our people.”

I chuckle. “Sounds a lot like the Jedi’s belief that we all pass into the Cosmic Force and become part of it after we die.”

Bo raises her eyebrows. “Let’s not go too far, shall we.”

“Don’t worry,” I say, smiling. “I didn’t want to start a religious dispute here.”

But after a while, another thought comes into my head. The question is out before I can stop myself.

“What do you believe happens to people who weren’t raised Mandalorian after they die?”

Bo grimaces again, then shrugs. “Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?”

“Nothing. You stop existing.”

“So, to have a soul is tied to being born Mandalorian?”

“Yes. And no. It’s complicated…If you are born into a Mandalorian family, are raised Mandalorian and live by the _Resol’nare_, your soul becomes part of the _Manda_ after you die. But you can also _become_ a Mandalorian without being born into a Mandalorian family. You can be adopted into our society. It’s not uncommon. We don’t like to leave children all alone in the world. Adopting a child – or even an adult – into your clan is extremely simple in our society. If they then follow the _Resol’nare_, they become Mandalorian and their soul lives on.”

I nod. It’s a notion I can understand easily. But…

“What about a Mandalorian who decides not to follow the tenets of your faith?”

I see Bo swallow at that, and she looks away.

“There is nothing worse for us than to born into Mandalorian society and stray from those tenets. We call people like that _dar’manda_ – not longer Mandalorian, or soulless. And if you have no soul…”

“…there is nothing to become part of your collective soul.”

Bo nods. Her face is turned so far away from me that I can’t see it. But I don’t need to see it to feel her emotions role off her in waves. There is a deep sadness about her that is clawing at her heart.

“You believe your sister is gone forever.”

Bo’s head whips around, and I can see that her eyes are glassy, and her lip is quivering. But the tears don’t fall.

“I had a lot of time to accept that as her fate,” she says instead, though her voice isn’t all that steady. “It doesn’t mean I don’t wish for it to be different.”

I nod, but don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say, really. And maybe there is nothing to say. I am afraid Bo-Katan Kryze will have to console her religious views and the underlying, lingering love for her sister in her own time and her own way. If such thing is even possible.

Like I have to console my trust in the Force, my memories of happier times in the Order, and the bitter aftertaste of how we parted ways in _my_ own time and _my_ own way. If such a thing is even possible.


End file.
